


Confound and Confusticate

by Emelye



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo wasn’t sure whether he ought to be gratified by the amount of sex he was having, or disappointed that it was some of the worst sex of his adult life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confound and Confusticate

Bilbo was confused. Solidly bewildered.

“All right there, Bofur?”

“Oh, aye!”

The banquet hall was as warm and noisy as ever and Bofur smirked as Bilbo sat down beside him. “Good time with the King, then?” And that’s where things got a bit difficult, because all Bilbo could really do at that point was smile tightly and change the subject. He wasn’t a naïf or a prude or any such thing. But he really was at a loss for how to answer the question.

The first time anything happened was several months after the battle. In the aftermath they’d all been more than preoccupied with tending the wounded and clearing the field, not to mention reestablishing order in the kingdom. But by the time the more gravely injured were back to fighting fit, the last of the dragon dung had been carted off and burned and all of the dwarves were quartered in the mountain where the first feast of celebration had been laid in the banquet hall. It was a joyous, raucous event with music and laughter and some of the bawdiest jokes were of Bilbo’s own telling. He’d had quite a lot of wine, and truth be told, was feeling more than a little amorous. Everyone was turned out quite splendidly for the occasion and his eye roved more than once to the King and his contented smile. Bilbo fancied he had a rather charming one of his own and he used it. To good effect, he might add, because it wasn’t long before he was caught against a pillar behind one of the tapestries with Thorin’s hand down his pants. Ordinarily, Bilbo would have kissed him. He liked kissing, was quite good at it and was very keen to get a good grip on that hair and find out what a beard felt like against his mouth, but by the same token, Bilbo had never been with a dwarf before and didn’t want to give offense if dwarves didn’t kiss or some such. Maybe they only crashed their foreheads together as he’d seen Balin and Dwalin do. He only hoped Thorin would be gentle because he didn’t relish the thought of concussion as afterglow.

Bilbo never did find out if dwarves kissed or not. His hand down Thorin’s pants earned him a winning smile, but in the end, they merely tossed each other off there on the edge of the hall, after which he received a clap on the arm for his trouble. Thorin was still smiling, and Bilbo considered that perhaps it was meant as a one-off between friends. Bilbo had certainly had a few in his day and could cope with it. It was a bit disappointing, to be sure, but so long as it didn’t harm their friendship, he reckoned he could do worse. But Thorin kept his arm around him, sat Bilbo down beside him at the table, and when he had Bilbo drink from his cup, he got the distinct impression something beyond a casual toss with a chum was going on.

Only Bilbo had no idea what that was.

They’d been together dozens of times since then. Thorin would give him a look and the next thing Bilbo knew they were tossing each other off in an antechamber or rubbing off through their trousers against the wall of an obliging cave. They never took their clothes off, they never kissed, never even spoke and every time it lasted exactly as long as it took to get off, which in Thorin’s case, was rather remarkably quick.

Bilbo wasn’t sure whether he ought to be gratified by the amount of sex he was having, or disappointed that it was some of the worst sex of his adult life. Meanwhile, Thorin had invited Bilbo into his confidence, began requesting his advice in important matters of state. He was hardly qualified to offer counsel but that didn’t deter Thorin one iota.

“I don’t understand it. I’m flattered, really, I am. But why me?”

Bofur shrugged. “Reckon he’s got his eye on making you Prince Consort,” he said, spearing another potato from the table with his fork.

Bilbo goggled. “Prince Consort? Me? A hobbit?”

“You’re his One. No getting around that. And I can’t imagine anyone would kick up much of a fuss over it, seeing as how you bested the dragon and saved the lives of the king and his heirs in battle.”

“Bard slayed the dragon.”

“Yeah,” said Bofur, ruffling Bilbo’s hair playfully. “But he hasn’t got your cute little arse on him.” Bilbo, in a deplorable display of poor hobbit behavior, threw a roll at Bofur’s head. “You’re all right with it? Thorin wantin’ ya for his own?” Bofur asked, seriously.

Bilbo shrugged. “There’ll be a bit of explaining to do to my relatives.”

“And your home in the Shire?”

Bilbo thought of Bag End. It all seemed part of another life now. He longed for his garden, for the quiet rituals of his bachelor life, evenings by the fire with his books. “I’ll need to go back for my things.”

Bofur smiled. “There are caravans comin’ every day from the Blue Mountains.”

Bilbo looked around the marble hall and smiled. “My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to keep Bag End a shrine to them and miss out on finding my own happiness.”

Bofur nudged him with his shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. Have to say this mountain would be dead boring without you here.”

Bilbo smiled, but added, “I’m going to need a garden, though. I may not be an elf, but hobbits don’t do well without something green and growing about them. It’s not natural.”

A hand came down on his shoulder. “I think we may be able to arrange that.” Thorin stood over him, smiling lightly. It was still odd to Bilbo seeing such a relatively carefree expression on the dwarf’s face after so much time. 

He returned it encouragingly. “I think we ought to talk.” Thorin bowed graciously and ushered him to a nearby antechamber. As soon as the door had closed upon them, Thorin had backed Bilbo against the wall and begun to tug at the fastenings of his trousers.

“Thorin,” Bilbo, said, slightly aggrieved. “I really did need to speak with you.”

Thorin backed up and composed himself before waving a hand for him to continue. Bilbo cleared his throat. “Yes. Good. Well, you see, the thing of it is, am I—that is to say, are we—Thorin, are we courting?”

Thorin gave him a puzzled tilt of his head. “Naturally.”

Bilbo only barely resisted the impulse to bury his face in his hands. “You are aware this is not how hobbits pay court.”

Thorin’s face fell. “Forgive me my ignorance.”

Bilbo waved off his concern. “Honestly, is this really how dwarves go about things? Just start fondling one another and hope for the best?”

Thorin looked away and blushed slightly. “We have traditions.”

Bilbo smirked. “You ask permission from the parents to fondle one another first?”

“No—it’s not like that,” Thorin stammered.

Bilbo restrained a laugh and took pity on him. “I know I am not a dwarf, Thorin, but I was given to understand dwarves placed a high value on tradition. Wouldn’t you, as king, be held up as an example of those traditions especially?”

At this, Thorin’s embarrassment broke as he shook his head. “Ah, but you see, we’re free of those expectations. There are no formal courtship traditions for two men, nor for dwarves and hobbits. We’ve no betrothal obligations to observe at all. We can take our pleasure as we please, and there’s no need to fuss with all the silly games dwarves play when courting a woman. “

Bilbo began to get a very specific picture of Thorin’s romantic past and found himself unimpressed. “So you’re saying that because we’re two men, there’s no need for for a formal courtship?”

Thorin sighed and grinned. “So you do understand!”

“And no need to trouble with romance because I’m not some virtuous dwarrowdam you need to talk into bed.”

“Precisely! We’re shield brothers. We’ve no need for soft words and promises. We share the same needs and desires.”

“Naturally.” It occurred to Bilbo that he might be grateful that Thorin had forgotten his opinion of him as a fussy, effeminate, gentlehobbit, but something had to be said. 

“Bilbo?” asked Thorin. “Have I done something wrong?”

Bilbo sighed. “Thorin, sit down,” he began. Thorin sat and Bilbo took a seat beside him. “I know dwarves are reputed to love only once. Can I assume, from your desire to court me, that you love me?”

Thorin’s eyes looked impossibly sincere as he took Bilbo’s hand, more like a lovestruck tween than a king. “With all that is in me,” he replied.

Bilbo’s resolve faltered, not wanting to damage their fragile peace, not after they’ve just found their bearings again, but it needed saying. “Then why would you treat me like any other shield brother you’ve known and not give me the honor of a proper courtship?”

Thorin pulled his hand back as if burned, flinching from Bilbo’s words. “Is that what I’ve done?”

Bilbo shrugged. “You know your customs better than I.”

Thorin fell to his knees beside Bilbo’s chair. “Forgive me. I am a fool.”

Bilbo wound a hand in Thorin’s hair. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, bringing their heads close together. “But I would take a kiss from you.”

Thorin’s lips were tight and their noses bumped terribly. Bilbo pressed his forehead to Thorin’s. “Have you never kissed anyone before?” he teased.

Thorin sighed. “I’ve never desired the company of a woman—”

“—And shield brothers don’t kiss. Right.”

Bilbo decided to remedy that situation immediately. “We’ve need of your chambers, Thorin Oakenshield. Your chambers, several hours and a bit of oil. Can you oblige me?”

Thorin looked momentarily stunned. “All that for a kiss?”

Bilbo stood and cast him an imperious look. “No, I intend to make love to you. Thoroughly and at great length. Because if you think for one moment I’m going to be satisfied with a casual toss behind the tapestries with my husband for the rest of my married life, you are sorely mistaken.” Thorin let out a huff of breath, and Bilbo took his hands in his, gently kissing his knuckles. “And if you think I’ll let _my_ One go another second of his embarrassingly long life without knowing the joy of being loved and loved _well_ , then you do not know me at all.”

Thorin did kiss him then, and it was far better effort than the previous one.

 

Hobbits were a lusty race, it must be said. Though Bilbo had remained unmarried, far more interested in those of his own sex than the hobbit lasses of his acquaintance, he was far from inexperienced. Tweens had long summers with which to get into all sorts of mischief in the fields, in smials emptied by festivals and weddings, in the quiet of a darkened bedroom long after the candles were put out. Every bed companion of Bilbo’s had long since married or moved on, but the memories of those nights had been enough to carry him through the first fifty years of his life.

Here in Thorin’s chambers, as the king slowly and carefully removed each vambrace, his mail shirt folded and laid in the chest with his armaments, Bilbo watched as the love of his second fifty years was revealed piece by piece. As the tunic passed over Thorin’s head Bilbo sucked in a harsh breath of longing. Large upper arms, shoulders of bronze and the dark hair across his chest leading downward into his trousers, a sight so exotic and tempting Bilbo found his feet taking him across the room quite before he’d made up his mind to do so. Thorin’s eyes gazed down from his strong brow, severe, and yet seeking, questioning.

“You are...you _are_ exquisite,” Bilbo answered, tugging him down into a kiss, more practiced now than their first. Thorin deepened it, anxiously pulling Bilbo against him as he began moaning desire and want into his mouth. 

Bilbo manouvered them to the edge of the bed, Thorin sitting as his knees found the mattress. Bilbo pulled back from the kiss, taking a moment to get two handfuls of thick, dwarven hair. “Do you trust me?” he asked, a smile playing at the edges of his expression. 

“With my life.”

Bilbo smiled, trailed a thumb across a regal cheekbone. “Undress me, then.”

Thorin’s large fingers set about his buttons with the practiced deftness of a jeweler. When he began to undo the buttons of his shirt Bilbo fought the impulse to pull in his stomach. Thorin swallowed.

“All right?” he asked. Thorin looked up at him and smiled softly before large hands began to rove and caress over his belly, still smaller than before he’d left home but no less soft. Thorin’s hands were work roughened, calloused, but warm. His mouth followed, tracing the lines of his collarbones and down to tug the slight peak of his nipple between his teeth.

Bilbo whined high in his throat. “Oh, you are really too quick. I shan’t have time to get my trousers off if you keep that up.”

Thorin chuckled and released him. Bilbo returned a hand to Thorin’s hair, winding it in the thick strands as he applied his own mouth to the sinew of his neck, tasting the sweat at the the hollow of his throat, tonguing the straining tendons as Thorin threw his head back and groaned. Bilbo’s other hand busied itself at the strings of his trousers releasing Thorin from the confines and with great pleasure he bared him at last to full light under his gaze. Bilbo flushed, red with appreciation, quickly removing his own trousers. “The oil?” he asked. 

“There,” Thorin replied, gesturing to the chest of armaments. Bilbo nodded, his fingers trailing appreciatively down the furred line of his stomach. 

The oil was in a flask near the bottom of the chest. Bilbo retrieved it with alacrity then set about nipping his way around the inside of Thorin’s thighs, the heady scent of male musk inspiring memories of warm nights in hay fields and stolen touches in cold cellars. He was a tween no longer, though. The oil he poured out, a bit onto Thorin’s heavy cock and a bit onto his own hand. He stroked him only a moment or two, not eager for this to end as quickly as their prior encounters. 

Thorin’s head raised to see what had stopped him. Bilbo considered how best to go about things. “Budge up a bit, love. Just there.” Thorin made room for Bilbo to kneel astride him. 

“What are you doing?” Thorin asked as Bilbo poured more oil into his hand and began working a finger into himself. 

Bilbo spoke through his teeth. It had been quite a while since he’d done this. “Just getting things a bit slick.”

“But you don’t mean to...surely you’re not...oh _Mahal_ you are!” Thorin groaned as he caught sight of two fingers disappearing into Bilbo’s arse.

Bilbo was beginning to relax around his fingers at last, his body remembering the sensation of fullness and the protracted intensity of the pleasure there. “Oh, bloody hell, yes,” Bilbo sighed. “Mmm,” he moaned. “And you’re going to feel marvelous, my love. Is this all right?”

Thorin’s pupils were blown wide with desire, “Oh, yes. Yes.”

Bilbo gently lowered himself down, feeling the crown of his cock breaching the tight ring of muscle. “Look at me,” he beckoned. Thorin’s eyes roved over him, his hands rising to Bilbo’s waist as he sank the rest of the way down, taking the entire length inside him. “Oh, that’s it,” he said.

Thorin made a desperate, pained sort of sound. Bilbo raised himself up and back down again, drawing a keen from the dwarf beneath him. “That’s it, love.”

His head thrashed on the bed and Bilbo leaned forward, brushing Thorin’s hair back from his forehead. His own cock brushed the hair of Thorin’s chest, and he moaned. Thorin began fucking up into him, a bit less overwhelmed now, and as the first powerful thrust battered the tender spot within him Bilbo shouted with joy. Encouraged, Thorin began fucking him in earnest, and Bilbo’s body sang with it. 

“Touch yourself,” Thorin directed, as he took firmer grasp of Bilbos hips and continued his brutal pace. He could do no other. His hand stripped his length, spurred on by the grunts and groans of the dwarf beneath him, working toward his own completion within his body. 

“Wait,” said Bilbo, settling back into Thorin’s lap. Thorin raised up to wrap his arms around him and now their bodies pressed together, Bilbo could kiss him. Thorin smiled at him, completely at ease in the moment and Bilbo couldn’t contain his own laugh. 

As their lips found one another, he felt his cock again brushing Thorin’s furred stomach. It was enough. He crushed their mouths together, howling as he came. Thorin’s own shout followed as he strained and spent within him. 

Breathing heavily, Bilbo carefully raised himself off Thorin’s lap and collapsed onto the bed, his legs wobbly and his skin slick with sweat and spend. His hand extended, he pulled Thorin up to rest with him, pillowing his bearded head upon his chest. Bilbo again took the opportunity to comb his fingers through Thorin’s hair. 

“I did not know,” he said.

“Hmm?” Bilbo inquired dreamily.

“What a thing it is to be so loved.”

Bilbo grinned, pleased, and pressed a kiss into his hair. “We can always go back to tossing off behind the statue of Thrain...Ouch!” he cried as two large fingers pinched him in a tender area.

“I fear you may not enjoy the wearing of what you’ve wrought, Mr. Baggins, for I now find I wish to keep you here in my bed and discover what other sorts of things you might teach me,” Thorin teased.

“Oh, Eru forfend,” replied Bilbo. “Here, in this ridiculously large and sturdy bed all day at your mercy, teaching you all sorts of uses for that mouth of yours besides shouting and teasing me, whatever shall I do?”

Thorin raised up on his arms and looked down at Bilbo, his hair curtaining his face. “Love me, I suppose.”

Bilbo sighed. “I see no alternative.”

Thorin was really becoming quite expert at kissing. 

And Bilbo could teach him the rest.


End file.
